


At A Price

by kaesaria



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Flirting, M/M, Power Play, light porn with a little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-09 09:00:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8884888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaesaria/pseuds/kaesaria
Summary: “I have no need of a wife,” Uhtred said again, after Odda and the others had gone. “My sword is yours.”_____Written in response to notkingyet's Yuletide prompt for The Last Kingdom: "Alfred the Great takes a more hands-on approach to putting Uhtred in his place. With his dick."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notkingyet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notkingyet/gifts).



> This mostly takes place during episodes 2 and 3 of the show, but I've taken some serious liberties with the canon. Mostly to make room for bit of porny goodness. Happy holidays!

Alfred was distracted the first time he spoke to Uhtred.

Enemies encroaching from the south and east, Ethelred’s need for counsel, Aethelwold’s antics, the Oddas’ constant harping for more attention and more power. And Beocca’s nagging about this barbarian of Bebbanburg, half a hope and half a bane, as if Alfred had time for such inconsequentialities. Through it all the usual pain, the ever-present wrench and twist in his belly sent by God to punish him for his sins.

But now the ghost had become flesh, a young Danish warrior with an aggravating manner, arrogance and presumption written into every line of his body. With a mouthy pagan girl in tow to boot.

And so Alfred had been distracted, had been ready to dismiss the boy on sight, but then—

There was something about the restless look in Uhtred’s eyes, the way his gaze never rested on one subject for more than a few seconds, always looking for the next field of focus, the next hurdle to surmount. There was an uncommon intelligence in that gaze, and a hunger for something unnameable and... precarious, perhaps. It kindled Alfred’s curiosity.

A trail, then, to see if this boy was worth his time after all. “I haven’t quite worked out the theology of luck,” Alfred contested, “Can there be luck if God disposes?

“If your God is with you, you are lucky man.” There was a daring note in Uhtred’s tone, and his manner did not at all afford the respect due to Alfred’s position—or to God, for that that matter. No one else presumed speak to the brother of the King of Wessex with such audacity, especially on such a subject.

But there was no arguing with the truth of the boy’s discernment, simple as it was. Alfred smiled, and curiosity sparked to interest. “With me,” he ordered, “We shall talk inside, briefly.”

Uhtred smirked, and his chin tilted up for a moment in lazy defiance... but then he followed without question when Alfred turned to lead him to his chambers.

The boy was arrogant, yes, but he was intriguing, and could be ruled.

Alfred tucked that observation into a quiet chasm at the back of his mind, for future perusal.

 

* * *

 

The second time they spoke alone was after Uhtred had proved his worth: after his unsolicited advice, after the victory at the hill.

Alfred understood the young Dane a bit better by then, saw the value he brought to Wessex with his insight into pagan ways of thinking. Moreover, Alfred understood more about the things that made the boy tick: the strength and the ambition that drove him, as well as the deep longing for position and security that he hid under oft- and loud-voiced demands for title and wealth.

He was a man-child as much as he was a warrior, the uncertainty in his eyes belying his bluster every time his gaze darted unconsciously to Beocca—or Alfred himself—for approval after an outburst.

Unease notwithstanding, Uhtred could hold his own against the Aelderman of Wessex. That was clear enough in his round refusal to bend on the issue of marrying a Saxon heiress. The barely-contained expressions of red fury that Uhtred could raise on Odda the Elder’s dour face were absolutely priceless.

Alfred had to duck his head to hide his smile; after awhile, he dismissed the council.

“I have no need of a wife,” Uhtred said again, after Odda and the others had gone. “My sword is yours.” He stepped back a few paces and leaned back against the meeting table, arms crossing against his chest. He tilted his head back a bit and met Alfred’s look, challenging.

Alfred raised his eyebrows. “At a price?”

“Everything I have has been taken from me,” said Uhtred. “Land and silver is what all men desire, and I am no different.” There was a note of demand in the young Dane’s tone, or perhaps of... negotiation. Alfred held his gaze, steady, answering the challenge. More formidable men than this upstart would-be lordling had fought a battle of wills with Alfred before, and lost.

But then suddenly, unexpectedly, Uhtred relaxed his body into a languid sprawl, resting his hands on the table behind him. His hips thrust forward an almost imperceptible inch.

Alfred ran his eyes down the boy’s form, amused. “Are you offering me your sword, or are you selling me your sword?”

“Either,” said Uhtred, and his voice was almost husky now, “both.”

Alfred considered him for another moment, then reached up, slow, to adjust the lay of Uhtred’s cloak, smoothing the fur along his collar. Uhtred didn’t tense, didn’t show any reaction at all, until Alfred let go of the cloak to grip the boy tight at the base of the throat, pressing his thumb against Uhtred’s collarbone hard enough to leave a bruise.

Even then, “I will do as my Lord commands,” was all Uhtred said, even as he tilted his chin up to give Alfred unhindered access to the vulnerable skin of his neck. He met Alfred's gaze, direct, and that insolent-yet-assessing look was back in his eyes. A quickened heartbeat yammered under Alfred’s fingers. “And I trust my Lord to hold up his end of the bargain.”

It startled a laugh out of him. “Such insolence,” Alfred chided, though the words came out perhaps a bit more fondly than he’d intended. He shifted his grip to slide his thumb up the boy’s neck and chin until it rested at Uhtred’s lower lip. The skin was soft there, like a girl’s. The boy still didn’t protest; instead, he parted his lips to lick at Alfred’s thumb.

When he raised his gaze, Uhtred’s eyes gleamed back at him with a dare, and... something else, something darker that sparked an answering coil of warmth in Alfred’s belly. He started moved forward half a step, and Uhtred shifted his thighs apart to make room between them—

“Lord, we have need of you,” said Odda the Younger from the doorway, interrupting; by the time Alfred finished with him, Uhtred had vanished.

 

* * *

 

And so it went for a time, a game and a welcome distraction between them: Uhtred bucked and pushed, he matched Alfred in wit and wordplay, his barbs sliding like the blunt edge of a pagan ax across Alfred’s silver-sharp ripostes. They faced the barbarian chieftains together and Uhtred held his own, and after, agreed to give himself for a year in service of Wessex and its new King.

Alfred went out to the fields to watch his soldiers train. He watched the forms and the maneuvers, he watched the fear fall from his men’s eyes, replaced with understanding and a new determination to fight for and win their homeland once and for all. Sometimes, when he scanned the wide vistas of the training field, Alfred’s gaze would catch on the manling standing by Leofric: defiance writ clear on his face, along with the lazy invitation in his eyes.

 

* * *

 

He was walking along the night-quiet lines of the encampment, headed back to the castle for the evening, when he chanced upon one tent at the edge of the field, set a bit apart from the others. On a whim, he went to it and flipped open the doorflap; inside, startled grey-blue eyes darted up to meet his own.

Uhtred was seated cross-legged on his bedroll, blade on his lap and whetstone in his hand.

“Do Danes never sleep, then?” Alfred asked, “But only pause to sharpen their weapons?”

Uhtred leaned back on his hands, one corner of his lip going up. “A sword is only as good as its edge,” he said, “And mine belongs to another. All the more reason to keep it... primed for all occasions.” His smirk grew, and Alfred took the invitation for what it was. He stepped inside the tent, letting the flap swish closed behind him, and went to stand in front of Uhtred.

“Let me see how primed my sword is, then,” he said, letting the command enter his tone, along with the amusement. “Get up.” It would not do for a King to lower himself to level of a soldier.

Uhtred watched for another silent beat, then slowly began to shift his body up. His gaze slid up Alfred’s body as he moved, from his feet to his knees and further up, pausing for a moment at the place under his belt-line. “All the way?” he asked, still on his knees, only his eyes moving all the way up to meet Alfred’s own.

Alfred didn’t let his own gaze waver. “Yes,” he said.

But when Uhtred finally stood and offered him the blade for his inspection, Alfred placed it aside, and reached down for the other... sword in his service. Uhtred gasped, and let him grasp it. Alfred hid his smile in the boy’s neck.

 

* * *

 

After, Uhtred slid down to his bedroll, his legs loose with pleasure. On his knees again, he licked his lips and reached for the fastenings of Alfred’s leggings—but Alfred stepped back. Uhtred looked up, surprised.

“Do you not want—”

Alfred silenced him with a touch, brushing his fingers against Uhtred’s lips. They were still slick with the boy’s release. Shameless, Uhtred opened his mouth to lick them clean, and Alfred watched him, feeling the tightness at his center thrum in time with swipes of Uhtred’s tongue.

Satiation would be pleasant, but—Alfred was in this for the long game, and he had experience negotiating with barbarians. Give too much away the first time, and his bargaining power would be that much the weaker in future altercations.

“Another time,” Alfred said, after his fingers were clean. He made himself step back. Uhtred shrugged, and let himself fall back on his bedroll. His features were still slack with release. He looked up at Alfred, arms crossed behind his head, grey eyes dark as coals in the dim lantern-light.

“Suit yourself,” he said. Then, as Alfred turned to leave, “My sword is yours, whenever you find occasion to use it.”

Alfred smiled, but didn’t pause on his way out the tent. _At a price_ , he thought, making a small adjustment to the front of his leggings as he walked toward the castle. Danes always had a price, even if they didn’t know if they were paying, or collecting payment.

Alfred’s own records were meticulous.

**Author's Note:**

> All comments and kudos are cherished. <3


End file.
